


Hiding

by Davechicken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, non-verbal episodes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21683299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Sometimes, the world is too much, and Crowley needs to hide.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 175





	Hiding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [robincain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robincain/gifts).



Once, Crowley would disappear. Aziraphale hadn’t worked it out fully until the demon’s presence near him was an almost-certainty. Crowley had hidden it, between the normal comings-and-goings of life.

But over time, he’d begun to notice trends. Crowley would become quiet, distant, sullen, and withdrawn. Aziraphale had thought it was a sign of irritation, perhaps. Of repressing anger, of failing to criticise or ask for something to change.

It wasn’t. Or, not always. It was many things…

Sometimes a theme in some work of fiction would strike a little too close to home. Abandonment, rejection, unrequited love. People held apart by external forces. Sometimes, it was the weather, but the weather was more than just that: it was a memory linked to a day linked to a sky linked to a feeling. Or maybe it was the date on the calendar. Or it was a train of thought he’d boarded without securing the return ticket.

Anger. Frustration. Pain. Those things piled up, until Crowley literally couldn’t process them any more.

And he fled.

Or, that is to say, he used to. 

The first time he’d confronted him, he’d been treated to a face full of fangs and hissing tongue. And he’d recoiled. There’d been an awkward distance for a while, until equilibrium had been restored. 

And until Crowley was able to communicate, again.

Once he realised that half the problem was that the demon shut down, and couldn’t communicate properly, it became much easier. Crowley prickled like a rattlesnake, or puffed like a cobra, but Aziraphale calmly reassured him it was alright. He’d still be there, even if he needed space. Either close by, at a respectful distance… or right there with him.

Eventually, his demon grew to accept his presence when he was feeling vulnerable. Even, to his pleased surprise, to seek him out. 

After a short time, with warm, blanketing hugs and low, murmuring whispers… Crowley would thaw, would melt, and would purr. Purr. Like a kitten. He’d let his tongue trill, and he’d push further into touches. He’d but against his shoulder, or put his legs where he needed them, and hopefully look up to see if he could get the attention he wanted. 

Aziraphale was almost always ready and willing to give him just that. 

A slightly longer time, and the angel worked out that - whilst the fear and discomfort were indeed very unpleasant - the initial stimulus that activated these periods were not always unpleasant itself. It was just that the fear of being vulnerable, unable to communicate, or otherwise hurt… had left Crowley raw and reluctant.

Sometimes, it wasn’t that the fictional character was rejected for so long. It was that - afterwards - they were accepted. Wanted. Loved. 

It wasn’t a bad memory that the wind plucked up, it was one of a time when he’d enjoyed himself more than he could cope with recalling at that moment. Blindsided by the full force of feeling, without the work up or warning. 

Sometimes his demon just felt too _good_ , and he had to devote most of his self to experiencing that emotion. He couldn’t talk about it, not until he’d felt it enough to know what to say. 

Those times were even more precious, because they were times that were saved, salvaged. Crowley no longer needed to bolt for the door when he was overwhelmed, no longer turned the good into a cause for alarm or fear. He could just feel them.

And Aziraphale could be the safe place for that to happen. Fingers in his hair, kisses to his cheek, taking care not to cross the line into too-much, but keep him drifting in just-enough. Crowley would melt like sugar into cocoa, hissing into syrupy happiness, and Aziraphale would bask in the glow. 

It was good. Good to give him that. Good to give him a place to be, and be so much that simply existing was everything. 

And it was even better that Crowley would trust him enough to do it. Would place his head on his lap and blink hopefully up at him. Would hold his knuckles and kiss them. Would nod, and smile, and answer his questions with a language much older than tongues.

He no longer ran away. Now, he ran to Aziraphale. That was everything.


End file.
